


You remind me of someone I used to know

by Gaslight Dreamer (wyntirrose)



Series: Medical Psychology [2]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bad Flirting, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Earth Transformers, author chooses not to name second character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-07-27 06:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7607269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntirrose/pseuds/Gaslight%20Dreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Ratchet the past was over and done, and the dead never came back to life. The facts of his own past were never questioned until a new Autobot entered his med bay and made him question what he thought he knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet is clearing up after a long day in medical when he is greeted by a mech who seems very familiar. Too bad Ratchet can’t quite place him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the prompt: Beginnings

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Ratchet of Iacon. I knew you’d end up going places.”

Ratchet turned to face the door and was greeted by a grey and blue Praxian with neon green highlights and an eight emblazoned on each door. The mech was casually leaning against the door frame and smiling pleasantly. There was something vaguely familiar about the voice and the smile, but Ratchet wasn’t able to place it. The mech probably just reminded him of someone else. After all, Praxians all had a similar build, though, Ratchet did notice that this one’s bumper was slightly flatter, his waist a tad thicker, and his wings were slightly shorter than the average. It was unusual and not at all unattractive. And somehow vaguely familiar in a strange deja vu kind of way.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Ratchet asked. Maybe he’d met the mech in passing in the mess hall. Or maybe he’d been one of the many injured who had come through after the last battle.

The other mech’s smile froze almost imperceptibly and an unidentifiable emotion passed over his face. It was gone as soon as it came and the smile was back in place.

“We met long ago, and you made an impression on me. Clearly more of an impression than I did,” the mech said. He then raised his hand to stop Ratchet’s apology. “Don’t worry about it. Not making an impression is part of the job. I never take offense when I’m forgotten, since it just means that I’m excelling at what I’m supposed to be doing.”

He stepped into the med bay proper and strolled over to the medic. He never looked around, nor did he offer his hand.

“I’m in your system as Cortano. I’ve got a twenty-three hundred hour service check, but I figured it was better to be a little early than late for this thing. After all, you’re the one who gets to decide if I stay or not,” Cortano said casually. There was an almost melodic timbre to his voice, like he was purposefully modulating it to seem as relaxed and unassuming as possible. Ratchet was finding it all surprisingly sexy.

Ratchet put his thoughts back on their proper track and accessed his records, quickly finding the mech.

_Designation: Cortano_  
_Function: Diversionary Specialist_  
_Unit: Special Operations ___  
_Commanding Officer: Jazz_  
_Status: Pending medical approval_

There was very little else. He was from Praxus - obviously. He had not been there when the city fell. He had been trained at the Institute in behavioural psychology before it had been destroyed by the Decepticons, and again, he had been off-site when the disaster had occurred. That last note struck a memory in Ratchet, but he wasn’t quite able to follow the track of it and he went back to the report. The only other information about his patient was that he had volunteered to join the Autobots a half vorn ago, and had been on probation with the-

“You worked with the Wreckers?” Ratchet asked.

Cortano nodded. “Yeah, I was off world when I volunteered,” he said, and it was clear that there were air quotes around the word volunteer. “I ran into the Wreckers - quite literally - when the depot I was working at was hit and I ended up working with them until Springer and Rung could get me transferred here. Now all that’s left is to make things official so I’m a real Autobot instead of a mercenary.”

“Okay, well come on up here,” Ratchet said as he patted the exam table. “We’ll get this over with and get you back to your unit.”

“You got it, Doc,” Cortano chirped, as he somehow managed to glide over to the table. There was a sway to his hips and a gentle wave in his doors. Everything about him was relaxed and almost seductive.

Ratchet dragged his optics off the mech’s chest long enough to activate the diagnostic systems in the table. It really was a lovely hood that framed his large headlights perfectly.

“I’m not seeing any pre-war history listed here,” Ratchet said conversationally. It wasn’t an unusual thing, but there was usually a bit more than what was here. It was almost like the mech’s history had been manufactured. Ratchet brushed away the thought. Jazz would have done a more thorough background check than he ever could and if Jazz was okay with Cortano, then that was more than enough vetting.

“Do I need to know anything particular in your medical history before we start?” Ratchet asked.

Cortano’s doors bobbed slightly in a Praxian negation. “Nothing too unusual I don’t think. A couple of mods from the old days, but I doubt they’re anything you haven’t seen before. I never got into the really spectacular modifications. Not that I wasn’t tempted on occasion,” he added with a chuckle.

He carefully lay back on the table in the appropriate position and let the machine do its work.

“Since when is a secondary tank not unusual? And why isn’t it connected properly?” Ratchet asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

“Can’t drink a bot under the table if I’m plastered myself. And you’d be amazed at just how free folks get with intel when they’ve had one too many,” Cortano said with a dazzling smile.

“You had hacking gear installed in your wrists and fingers?”

“Not _hacking_ , per se,” Cortano replied innocently. “I mean, it would be illegal to directly hack into any official systems. But sometimes it helps to encourage foreign systems to my point of view. Not a hack, just a nice, pleasant conversation. You’d be surprised how much city-formers like to chat. Talk your audial off if you give them half the chance.”

“Uh hunh.” Ratchet knew he sounded unconvinced.

The mech was clearly keeping him occupied and distracted for some reason. It was like he was actively trying to make Ratchet look in a specific direction and away from something he should be seeing. Well, it wasn’t going to work! Ratchet redoubled his efforts and looked closer at the scans, trying to find whatever it was that Cortano was hiding.

A notice came up on the reports, indicating a non-standard upgrade. Apparently Cortano had had his receiving port augmented at some point, so now it was far more adaptable to varying plug types. So long as the cable was of an appropriate girth for the calipers, Cortano’s port could accept it. And it also seemed that he had recalibrated his lubricating systems to accept override commands. Non-standard though not unheard of. It was a common augmentation among shareware and party bots. And quite possibly, spies. After all, Cortano was claiming that all of his other upgrades were used to get information out of others.

“Your interfacing equipment looks to be non standard,” Ratchet said simply. He anticipated a similar flippant response. Cotano surprised him.

“Why Doctor!” the Praxian purred. “I had no idea you were interested in my equipment. Maybe you’d like a more _thorough_ exam?”

Ratchet knew his optics were darkening in a blush, but he had no idea why. He’d been propositioned by many other mechs and with far more subtlety, so why was this particular mech getting under his plating like he was? Yes, Praxians were all very pretty, and Cortano was no exception, but Ratchet was never one for this kind of obvious con artist. Still, there was just something about him that almost brought up a memory from long ago …

“You know, you’re really cute when you’re flustered,” Cortano said, all flirtations gone from his voice and demeanour.

“And you’re impossible!” Ratchet snapped. “You’re easily as bad as those pit-spawned Wreckers.”

“Oh, well I don’t know about that. I thought I was being rather clever,” Cortano said, his mouth forming a slight moue.

Ratchet turned back to the scans, looking over the key systems carefully. Any other medic would have just released Cortano and given him a clean bill of health, but Ratchet wanted to be sure. This war was a mess and he wanted - no, he needed - to be sure that everyone was in top health before they were sent out to die. He fought back a bitter snort at the thought.

“So, Doc, am I good to go out and get my aft handed to me?” Cortano asked, breaking Ratchet away from his thoughts.

“Not yet,” Ratchet replied slowly. “I’m seeing some old scorching on your spark chamber and some slight damage below that. Want to explain that?”

The damage was consistent with a mech who had been sparked at some point and had a rough carry, but everyone knew that Praxians didn’t reproduce that way. Not anymore. The scorching was far more concerning. It could be damage sustained in battle, or it could have far more sinister implications. Given what Ratchet was piecing together about Cortano, he feared the later.

“I was on the wrong end of several electroprods before I ran into the Wreckers. It caused some scorching to my casing. Stung like the Pit, I can tell you that! And the damage was an old accident that was dealt with vorns ago. It only aches when the Rainmakers are out.”

Again, Cortano flashed that brilliant smile that was obviously covering something. But the answers would logically explain the damage, and they didn’t seem to be causing any problems.

“Okay. Fine,” Ratchet finally said. “I don’t like it, but I can’t find anything wrong with you. You’re free to go.” With that, he turned off the machines and filed away the tests for further study.

“If I don’t know better, I’d think that you didn’t want me to leave, Doc,” Cortano said as he sat up, that purr back in his carefully modulated voice.

“No,” Ratchet said firmly. “I do not need you installed in here, thank you very much. But that being said, if your spark does start aching, I want you to come back immediately.”

The brilliant smile returned and Cortano slipped on the table and sashayed toward the door. 

“Good to know you care, Doc! Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Before Cortano left the room, Ratchet held up his hand. The tugging at his memory was becoming insistent and he needed to put it to rest.

“Quick question, Cortano,” he said.

“Ask away, Boss.”

“Why the eight? It’s unusual for a mech to have any numbers anywhere on his chassis, so why this one?” Ratchet asked.

Cortano’s smile changed slightly morphing from the obvious con to something far more genuine. Genuine and almost wistful.

“In a different lifetime I lost the three in a card game,” Cortano said simply, and with that he left the room.

Pieces suddenly fit into place in Ratchet’s mind. Cortano reminded him forcibly of Smokescreen, a mech he had dated for a long time a long time ago. A mech who had been deactivated when the Decepticons had destroyed the Academy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The blue and green colour scheme is from the Alternator’s Smokescreen. The name, Cortano, is Smokescreen’s canon name in Brazil.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz knows all and sees all in the base, so surely he can help Ratchet learn something more about Cortano, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the prompt: Who?

Ratchet passed Jazz’s quarters for the third time before finally reaching out to hit the call button. Before his hand reached its target the door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a smiling Jazz. He was looking far too smug for Ratchet’s liking.

“I was wond’rin’ when you was gonna hit that, Doc,” Jazz chirped. “So, what’s got the mighty Hatchet all hot an’ bothered?”

“Don’t call me that!” Ratchet snapped and he shoved his way into Jazz’s quarters.

Jazz made no protest. He could have easily forced the large medic out, but where was the fun in that?

“I dunno, Doc. I think the handle fits just right. I mean, you are the only medic on staff who was able to get th’ Wreckers t’ heel. An’ I see just how much ‘Hide an’ Prime defer t’ ya. That either takes bearings of pure titanium or a mighty large hatchet. Or ya have some serious dirt on all of ‘em.”

Ratchet crossed his arms over his broad chest and glared at the saboteur.

“Are you done?” he demanded, but there was a hint of a smile pulling at his lips.

“Not nearly,” Jazz replied. “But since I know I can only push ya so far, an’ I really am curious as t’ what’s wrong, I’ll stop. For now.”

Jazz suddenly sobered and motioned to the berth. “So, you wanna tell me what’s wrong? You looked ‘bout ready t’ hand someone their platin’ and seem confused as t’ why.”

Ratchet sighed and sat at the edge of the berth. He was silent for a long moment before finally speaking.

“What can you tell me about this Cortano? I mean, I know that most of what you lot do is above my pay grade, but something about him is setting off warning notices in my HUD and I learned a long time ago not to ignore them.”

Jazz sat down in a chair across from Ratchet and rested his pedes casually on the berth next to the medic. He was the picture of calm relaxation, but Ratchet had known him long enough to know that this was all an act. Every move Jazz made was calculated and plotted. Sometimes the mech was more Praxian than any of the Praxians on the base.

“Cortano, hunh? I was wonderin’ when he was gonna get around t’ goin’ t’ see you and make all this officially official. Honestly, between you an’ me an’ the walls, I was kinda hopin’ he’d stay in a contractor status. Easier t’ claim deniability later on if needed.”

“Yeah, like Prowl was going to let that happen.”

Small doors bobbed slightly as Jazz shrugged. “I think he'd be just as happy if Cortano went away. Like far away.”

Ratchet’s chevron arched slightly. “Why's that? If he had issues with the mech he'd never let him within a klick of any Autobot base, let alone this one.”

“What makes ya think that I know his processor?” Jazz asked.

“Jazz, we have known each other for how long now? Certainly long enough for me to appreciate that you see and hear everything going on in this base. Now spill!” Ratchet demanded, though there wasn’t really any heat in it.

Again the doors bobbed as Jazz shrugged his shoulders.

“Swear on my T-Cog I ain’t got no idea what’s up Prowl’s tailpipe about Cortano. But, if I had t’ hazard a guess I’d say that it’s ‘cause Cort’s not properly Praxian-like, ya know? Plus there’s th’ fact that his history’s clearly been manufactured. I mean, you saw his records, right?”

Ratchet frowned at that. “I saw the medical file. I had assumed that it was redacted. I mean, there is no way that either you or Prowl would agree to bringing in someone so obviously sketchy.”

“Yeah, well I figured that he’d have t’ be the worst kind of ‘Con spy to try t’ infiltrate with that background. Plus there’s the fact that th’ Wreckers vouch for him. If he was crooked in a dangerous way he’d’ve never survived Whirl.”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Ratchet said, but he still didn’t sound convinced.

Jazz was silent for a long moment but his optics never left Ratchet’s face as he ran the problem over in his processor. Finally he knocked his foot into Ratchet’s thigh to get his attention.

“Okay, enough. What’s really gotcha in a twist?”

Ratchet leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and sighed almost imperceptibly.

“I already told you, I’m getting some warnings in my-”

“No,” Jazz said, cutting the medic off. “If ya really had concerns ‘bout the mech, you’d’ve gone t’ see Prowl about it, not me. Try again, Doc.”

“It made more sense to speak with you since you’re his CO,” Ratchet insisted. “Plus there’s the fact that Prowl’s been more suspicious than usual now that he and Red are together.”

“Okay, that’s try number two,” Jazz said casually, but there was an edge there, hidden just below the friendly demeanour. “Shall we make the third try the charm, doc?”

Ratchet sighed heavily before finally throwing up his hands in defeat. 

“Fine! Fine! Tell me something, Jazz, why is it that you're not the Autobot’s interrogator?”

“Because Autobots don't interrogate,” Jazz said with a shrug. “And Cortano’s better at it. And you're still not answering the question, Ratch.”

Ratchet looked down at his hands for a long moment before speaking. “He reminds me of someone, a Praxian I knew a long time ago. Someone I cared about and it’s thrown me off. It was a little like seeing a ghost.”

Jazz’s visor brightened as he smiled cheekily. “He reminds you of a Praxian? Ya do remember that they all look alike, right? I mean, save for th’ colours.”

Ratchet glared at Jazz, slapping the side of the saboteur’s foot lightly.

“That’s not true and you know it. Cortano has wider hips and a thicker waist. His aft is rounder and his chest is a little flatter but fuller as well. Wider I guess. And his doors are a little shorter than Prowl’s are.”

“You been checkin’ out Cort’s aft, Ratch?” Jazz never bothered to suppress the chuckle as he teased the medic.

“No! No, I haven’t been checking out anyone’s aft,” Ratchet snapped, but his optics darkened in a blush.

Jazz made a noncommittal sound and poked Ratchet with his foot again, prompting more information.

“Look, he just really looks like Smokescreen did. The colours are all wrong but everything else is the same. Even his voice is similar. I think.” Ratchet shook his head slightly. “It’s been a long time.”

“What happened to him?” Jazz asked.

Ratchet shrugged. “Same thing that happened to everyone else. The war happened.”

Jazz remained silent but made a ‘go on’ motion with his hand.

“He was offlined when the Academy was destroyed. They never found his remains, but the room he was in was near the epicentre of the blast. The mechaforensic division said that everyone would have been vaporized.”

“I’m sorry,” Jazz murmured as he reached out to place a comforting hand on Ratchet’s knee.

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago.” Ratchet shook his head and scrubbed his face with his hands. “Look, I’m just tired and seeing slag that isn’t there. Like you said, all Praxians are similarly built and I-”

“Hey,” Jazz said, gently cutting Ratchet off with a light squeeze to his knee. “We all get those moments. It’s okay.”

“Thanks, mech.” Ratchet cleared his vents and stood slowly. “Thanks, I think I just needed to say all that out loud so I could hear how ridiculous the whole thing sounds.”

“Crazy’s pretty relative, mech. I fact, I seem t’ recall someone once sayin’ that you’d have t’ be crazy t’ work here,” Jazz said with a cheeky smile.

Ratchet chucked. “Yeah, that sounds like something I’d say.”

He sobered and placed a hand on Jazz’s shoulder. “Seriously though, thanks for the talk, mech. I needed it.”

“Anytime mech. And if ya need anythin’ else, maybe a little physical exertion t’ get yer mind offa things …?” Jazz left the thought unfinished as his optics darkened slightly in invitation.

Ratchet leaned in and placed a kiss on Jazz’s cheek. “I’ll keep that in mind. We both know how good you are at your version of P.E. But I need to get back to med bay. You off shift later?”

“Yeah, I think I can clear things up t’ make th’ time.”

With one last kiss, this time to the lips, Ratchet left Jazz’s quarters. As soon as the door slid shut behind the medic, Jazz turned to his console.

“Yo, Teletraan, do me a solid and gimme all ya got on Cortano. Authorization Alpha Prime Seven Zero Petrex.”

“Acknowledged,” the base systems intoned as it accepted the Black Ops level security code. Only the Prime had deeper clearance.


End file.
